


Hounds

by Yen



Series: Game of Thrones Alternatives [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, Fix-It, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 07:55:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19146763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yen/pseuds/Yen
Summary: "No," Sandor said dismissively. "There's only one thing that would ever make me happy."A shallow inhale of breath from Sansa. “What's that?”Sandorhadbeen thinking about his brother's corpse crumpled in a broken pile at his feet, but now, with Sansa so close that he could smell the lingering scent of weirwood leaves that she used as a fragrance, another very different image was starting to blossom in his mind.She had always been his weakness.





	Hounds

  

Sandor shooed the girl away with a scowl. Oh, she was pretty enough, and there was a time when he'd have jumped at the chance to bend her over for a quick one, but tonight his heart just wasn't in it. Surrounded by people feasting and drinking, celebrating their miraculous escape from the Army of the Dead, and all Sandor could think about was how tomorrow he'd be walking towards his almost-certain death.

Again.

That tended to put a damper on one's mood.

As he bent down towards the table to finish off his chicken, he spotted a motion out of the corner of his eyes.

Lady Sansa.

She was making her way through the crowd, her flaming red hair fanning out behind her. There was the slightest hint of a smile on her face, a smile which he had almost never seen when they were back in King’s Landing. But here, surrounded by her people, in her own halls, she looked right at home, every inch the Lady of Winterfell . She looked _dazzling._ Even now, years later, the sight of Sansa could still make his cold dead heart skip a beat.

"She could have made you happy, for a little while," Sansa mused as she took a seat opposite him. Her eyes lingered on the retreating back of the woman whom Sandor had been talking to moments before.

 _Happy?_ Sandor had never given much thought to that. He had just been worried about survival. Getting by.

"No," Sandor said dismissively. "There's only one thing that would ever make me happy."

A shallow inhale of breath from Sansa. “What's that?” 

Sandor _had_ been thinking about his brother's corpse crumpled in a broken pile at his feet, but now, with Sansa so close that he could smell the lingering scent of weirwood leaves that she used as a fragrance, another very different image was starting to blossom in his mind.

She had always been his weakness.

Suddenly feeling somewhat panicky, Sandor snarled, “That's my fucking business.”

He immediately regretted his harsh words, but to his surprise, Sansa didn't recoil from him. She didn't even flinch. Instead, she was still wearing that faint smile as she looked right into his eyes.

What the fuck was that look supposed to mean?

Maybe…  

But no. It could never happen. Not a girl like that, not with someone like him.

"Used to be a time when you couldn't even look at me," Sandor muttered.

Sansa laughed. "That was a long time ago. I've seen much worse than you since then."

"Yes, I've heard." Rage swelled in his chest at the thought of Littlefinger and Ramsay Bolton getting their disgusting paws on someone like Sansa - rage, followed quickly by horror at the darkening expression on Sansa's face.

Sandor swallowed. Why, _why_ had he said that? Brought up those awful memories for her, when they had been… getting along, getting along better than he had ever dared to hope. Now he had gone and put his foot in it.

"Look, I'm sorry -" Sandor began.

Sansa shook her head, cutting him off. "He got what he deserved."

"How?"

A wicked little smirk quirked up the corner of her mouth. "Hounds."

He couldn't hold back the surprised bark of laughter that bubbled up from within his chest, a laugh of genuine, honest mirth that he hadn't felt for - for who knows how long.

They shared another conspiratorial, knowing look before Sandor blurted out the thought that had been preoccupying his mind, ever since he’d left her behind. “None of it would have happened if you’d left King’s Landing with me. No Littlefinger. No Ramsay. None of it.” Bitterness and regret filled his chest at the thought.

Sansa said nothing for a moment, then gave him a sad smile. “But without Littlefinger and Ramsay and all the rest, I'd have been a little bird all my life.”

Sandor’s heart almost stopped as she rested her small hand on top of his. He looked down at where their hands were joined, hardly daring to breathe as she stroked her pale, graceful hand across his knuckles.

“And now it’s my turn to ask you,” Sansa said. “Stay here. Don’t go back to King’s Landing with them. There’s nothing there but death.”

“I -”

Sandor hadn’t even told anyone about his plans to kill his brother, but it was as if she had read his mind, and, well, it wouldn’t exactly have been hard to guess. Torn between his lifelong desire for revenge and his secret devotion to Sansa, Sandor could only look down blankly at where her hand was still on top of his, his mind reeling.

“I’ll make you my Queensguard,” she murmured, too low for anyone else to hear over the din of the crowd. “You can have a life here, in Winterfell. A good life.”

_Queensguard?_

That was treason. Daenerys, that girl with the dragons, had proclaimed herself the Queen. But it seemed like Sansa had other designs.

Not that Sandor gave a shit about which perfumed lord or lady sat on the damned Iron Throne - if Sansa wanted to be Queen, good for her. That had nothing to do with him.

Immediately, Sandor shook his head. “I’m no knight,” he snapped, but even he could tell that his heart wasn’t in it. His resolve was weakening. His loathing of knights, their lies and their hypocrisies, couldn’t stand against what Sansa was offering him. Not when she was looking at him like that.

Sansa's expression softened. “I don’t need a knight. I need a hound.”

With those parting words, she stood up to leave, making her way through the crowd back to the rest of her family.

 

* * *

 

Sandor didn’t seek her out for the rest of the night. But Sansa had the answer she needed when the armies marched off to King’s Landing with Sandor conspicuously absent.

She looked up to see him standing on the ramparts, face fixed in his usual scowl as he watched the gates of Winterfell close behind the last phalanx.

Their eyes met.

He nodded once, brusquely, to her, before turning away.

Unbidden, a small smile broke across Sansa's face. It was the one bright spot of that day, outshining even her worry about Jon's safety - that despite everything she had lost, at least the Hound would be safe here in Winterfell, and she with him.

 


End file.
